It wasn't the worst place Remy had woken up. Old metal; dusty wood; hay and the distant smell of livestock―his nose came back before his eyes did, followed by cloth and leather on his skin. His throat was dry, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like a teasel to a dog, but he was alive. When he moved, nothing hurt.

The lack of pain was what confused him the most. He opened his eyes to setting sunlight and fresh air, all too bright to make out details right away, and he couldn't move. He tried, and it was uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt. His hands were tied behind his back, a full pair of leather gloves shielding his fingers from anything he could blow up. His in-laws would have tied him up, no hesitation, but Julien would have beaten Remy to hell and back if he ever caught him unconscious. And since he hadn't woken up to so much as a black eye, it was obviously someone else who had knocked him out, tied him up and thrown him on a… train? Boxcar? The rhythm of the floor was loud and steady, doors thrown open to reveal a New York countryside turned yellow by sunset.

And in that open doorway sat a person to whom Remy was definitely not related by marriage, her knees hung over the edge of the car with an early-autumn wind streaming her hair into auburn ribbons. Remy had a sense of her, even before he saw the streaks of white; it was all too familiar, too circular. If Remy hadn't been the one tied up on a train, he would have said it was too funny to be anyone else.

She was enraptured by the scenery, so Remy twisted his wrists to get a sense of the situation. He was tied, not cuffed, so no lock for the picking. She'd put her own gloves on him which sorely lacked any open fingers, so he couldn't blow anything up without blowing up his own hands. He was still wearing his trench coat, too, which covered his arms and shoulders. Between all that and his uniform, the only bare skin he had left was his face. And he wasn't desperate enough to start kissing things to blow them up.

It wouldn't hold Remy for long, of course, but it was a tight capture, and he respected a good challenge. He'd respect it even more once he was free and gone, with his cargo delivered and Magneto's irritation soothed.

Speaking of which, Remy's coat pockets felt worryingly light. The outlines in leather where cards usually lived now lay flat against his leg, while his secret breast pocket contained one less chip protector than it was supposed to. When he shifted his shoulder against the floor, the pocket rubbed empty against his chest.

His payload was gone. Fallen out? His secret pocket was closed in three different directions and protected by sewn-in plates; unless he'd been knifed without knowing, the only way to get in was to open it deliberately. Had she stolen it? Did X-Men steal things? That wasn't their usual protocol, but then again, X-Men didn't usually didn't tie up their enemies and throw them on trains, either.

"Hmm?" She turned her head, alerted by his shifting.

Remy forced down his worry, sitting up against the wall of the boxcar with a carefully unbothered smile. The young woman's demeanor heated when she saw him moving, eyes filling up with fire. They were usually filled with fire when they looked at Remy.

"Well." She turned to face him. "You're up quick."

Quick. That meant it was the same day she'd knocked him out. They'd scuffled mid-afternoon, so the sunset meant he'd only been out for a few hours. Given the time it must have taken to drag him to the train yard, then to wait or find a departing train, they probably weren't too far out of Bayville.

"World's big, cherie. Gotta bounce back quick if you wanna survive." Remy settled back against the wall, hands pressed behind him. It was clumsy work, fiddling with knots through leather gloves that didn't fit, so he made a show of relaxing and looking around the boxcar. "I suppose I'd be calling the kettle black if I complain about the transportation. You got friends hidin' in these other cars, or is this a date just you an' me?"

Her eyes narrowed at the word 'date.' Good. An irritated Rogue was a distracted Rogue.

"Lucky I found you in time, swamp rat." Rogue crossed her arms. "The X-Men didn't have to fix your assassin problem."

The X-Men hadn't run into his pursuers? That meant Julien was likely still chasing him, but Julien wasn't here, and neither were the other X-Men. And neither was Remy's payload. Had it fallen, had Rogue stolen it, or had the assassins acquired it somehow? Had Rogue given it to them? No, Remy thought immediately. Rogue didn't hate him quite that much. Probably.

"Lucky them." Remy managed to drive his thumb into the knot, prying loose a bit of tension. "Didn't know you cared so much, cherie. You sweep all the Cajuns off their feet like this? I'd get in trouble more often if I knew you were waitin' to save me."

A muscle in Rogue's jaw twitched. He could see her anger rising, hot and pretty, but not enough to snap.

"You make plenty of trouble already," Rogue said. "But hey, I'm sure those assassins would be happy if you got in a bit more."

"Assassins. Tch. You think anyone cares enough about ol' Gambit to put a hit on him?" The knot loosened, finally, just enough for Remy to shimmy a hand one of one glove and put a finger to the rope. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you tryin' to flatter me."

"I'll flatter you with my fist if―" Rogue caught herself, took a deep breath, and swallowed her anger whole. "I ain't here for you, swamp rat. I'm here 'cause of you, and 'cause you got a habit of draggin' us into your problems. I ain't lettin' that happen again."

"Who, me?"Remy smiled, keeping his shoulders against the wall to hide the smoke as he burned through the rope. "Don't know what you talkin' about, cherie. Pretty sure you're the one who did the dragging here. Then again―"

The rope snapped, and Remy slipped free.

"―this ain't exactly convincin' me to avoid trouble. I'm guessin' you'll want these back."

He pulled his hands into the open and tossed the gloves at her.

She caught them, annoyance flooding her face. Annoyance, but not surprise. "Hmph," she grumbled. "Not gonna blow 'em up in my face?"

"Well, now you're just badmouthin' me." Remy got to his feet, stretching to get the blood flow back. "I done plenty of bad things, cherie, but I ain't ever been rude."

Rogue stood with him, taking two thunderous steps away from the open door. Her gloves remained in her hands, but not on her hands; she seemed in the mood for a fight, which Remy didn't have time to admire right now.

When he finished stretching, Remy ran hands down his jacket. He made an outward show of straightening it, but his fingers pressed against every pocket as they went. Payload; staff; cards; even his wallets were missing. All of it. He almost laughed at the absurdity. She'd robbed him. An X-Man, supposed to be the pinnacle of 'good mutant behavior,' had committed wholesale larceny.

"Never been rude?" Rogue snapped. "You call kidnapping me 'polite?'"

"I call it business," Remy chuckled, straightening his jacket for real. "I still gotta wonder, though, since it's just us, and we got no assassins or X-Men droppin' outta the sky…"

Remy stepped toward Rogue, smirking as his eyes slid over her body. There were things in her pockets, but the outlines were too lumpy to identify. There were no clean rectangles to suggest card decks, at least in her front pockets, and his payload was too small and cylindrical to spot from the outside.

"I ain't put these gloves on," Rogue growled. "Better mind your manners if you know what's good for you."

"Manners," Remy purred, taking another step toward her. "When have I ever done different? Just tryin' to see what you want in all this. That's what good business is about, cherie: wantin' the same thing. I'm sure we can figure it out."

He stepped into her reaching distance, and Rogue put up a hand between them. A threat? She didn't seem eager to carry it out. Those smooth fingers hovered in his path, but didn't move to touch him.

Remy took another step. "You want something, cherie. You got to, otherwise you an' me wouldn't be alone on another boxcar with miles between us and your X-Men. What game you playin'? I'll play it better if I know the goal."

He took another step forward, cutting space between them until her hand was nearly pressed to his chest. She flinched at the last minute, taking a half-step backward.

"Better―" Rogue cleared her throat. "Better back yourself up, swamp rat; I ain't fallin' for your bluff twice."

"Whose bluff?" Remy grinned, taking another slow, small step forward. "You could'a touched me the first time around, cherie. I told you so, even back then. If you think I'm bluffin', call it."

For all Rogue's anger, the touch between them was more accident than anything. Remy continued to advance, Rogue stepped back and knocked her heel against the boxcar wall, and the stumble reached all the way up to her hands. She brushed his cheek, just a finger, just a second, and Remy was re-acquainted with that strange feeling of having his soul sucked out through his skin.

Not enough to knock him out, though. He staggered, coming back to his senses just in time to keep from falling on his face.

"You t'ink you funny―" Rogue's accent went very Cajun for a moment, and she chewed on it like bad food. "I mean," she said in her normal Mississippi lilt, "you ain't foolin' me twice, and I ain't given' you what you want. Your little computer chip ain't here, and you ain't gettin' it back unless I choose to tell you."

Remy dropped the facade, his smile turning sharp. She had his payload. Not here, she said, but somewhere, and even he wasn't willing to gamble the odds of her lying. He could pick her pockets, charm, seduce, but Rogue's particular brand of touch-starvation seemed to make her defensive of touch instead of desperate for it. He had a good sense for emotions, but he wasn't psychic; none of his powers could pry information she wasn't willing to give.

For all Remy's talk, even when he had her backed against a wall, it was Rogue who had the advantage here. And from the steady glint in her eye, she knew it.

"Just try an' put your hands on me, swamp rat." Her eyes were narrow and fiery. "See what happens."

Remy shook his head with a sigh. "Always with the accusations." He stepped back, giving her space. "But you got my hands tied, better than you ever did with that rope. Cards are in your favor, cherie. Say what you want."

Rogue frowned for a moment, seeming almost surprised. She looked Remy up and down, taking her time with a response. The steady rattle of the train tracks filled the space between them, shadows stretching with the sunset, and Remy wondered if she'd actually thought of a price beforehand. He wondered how much any of this had been thought out beforehand; the train, the open country, tying him up and emptying his pockets like a two-cent alley bandit. The fact she was thinking so hard about it made the whole thing seem unplanned, and Remy wasn't sure how to feel about that. Yet.

Eventually, he saw Rogue's response in the hesitant curl of her tongue. She needed a second to work up to it, and Remy thought he was prepared for anything, but what she actually said managed to take him off guard: "Ten percent."

Remy blinked. "Say again, cherie?"

Rogue took a breath. The second time, it came out with confidence. "I want ten percent."

"Ten percent. Commission?"

"Yeah," she snapped. "That fraction is so easy even you could do it."

"I'm fine with the math, cherie." For once, Remy was too baffled to smirk. "But you… you're aware I'm bein' paid for robbery, non? Magneto don't keep me around for my card tricks."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Nah, I thought your family called themselves the 'Thieves Guild' for their fishin' skills."

"I just wanna make sure I'm hearin' right." Remy frowned. "You askin' for commission on a grand larceny. A felony grand larceny. You want a ten percent cut from a felony."

Rogue hesitated, and for one moment she seemed almost as baffled as Remy about what she was asking. But that moment passed, and then she squared her shoulders and held her head proud as she looked him in the eye.

"You want your data chip," she said, "you're gonna have to pay for it."

Alright, so their communication skills were working just fine. Rogue, the X-Men's resident strong and silent type, was in fact asking to be accessory to a felony. To Remy's felony. To one tenth of Remy's felony, and the fact she was asking so grand a price should have been considered a crime in itself.

"I'm guessin' you got that idea from drinkin' my thoughts." Remy tapped his forehead. "An' so I'm guessin' you also know that ten percent is way too high for a finder's fee. Three percent is traditional, but the fact an X-Man is askin' for a cut is too damn funny to pass up. Hand me the payload and pull out your phone, I'll give you five percent right now."

"I don't want five percent." Rogue crossed her arms. "I said ten."

Remy laughed. "Cherie, I'm the actual professional an' I only get fifty. I ain't settlin' for forty just 'cause you pretty."

Rogue's jaw twitched again, and anger boiled in her gaze, but it didn't distract her the way Remy had hoped. Her annoyance was frustratingly unhelpful when she knew she had the upper hand.

"Forty percent of…" She thought for a moment. "... a hundred seventy-five thousand seems plenty. A hundred seventy-six? I know the pay is something like that. A lot more than zero, anyway, which is what you'll get if you can't find the data chip."

Now it was Remy's turn to narrow his eyes. "That ain't a cut, cherie. That's a ransom."

She shrugged. "If you like."

"Commission is paid on delivery. If I get nothin', you also get nothin'."

"Not nothin'," she corrected. "I get to ruin your weekend, which I'd do for free."

Remy huffed. "An' after I gave you such a good time at Mardi Gras? I'm hurt."

"I want ten percent because you're already on my bad side," Rogue growled. "You bring up Mardi Gras again, that number's gonna get bigger."

"Ten percent 'cause I'm on your bad side." At this, Remy's smirk returned. "So if I get on your good side, that number'll get smaller? Noted."

She scoffed. "Like that'll happen."

"You never know. It's a long way from here to Bayville, and if ten percent's what you want, cherie, I need that payload in my hand first. You want to charge a ransom, I'll pay on delivery. Not upfront."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Right. Like I'd trust you."

"You trust me enough to drag me all the way out here an' to ask for a cut in the first place." Remy held out a hand, with his usual glove exposing his usual number of fingers. "Seal the deal, chere. One touch an' you'll know I'm talkin' true."

Chere. Not cherie. A bit less affection, a bit more respect. From the curious rise of her eyebrow, Remy was sure Rogue noticed the difference.

She looked at his hand. "Fool me once, swamp rat…"

THUD. Even over the wind, they both heard the crack of breaking timber as something hit the train a few boxcars down. They looked at each other, looked out to the countryside, and Rogue took the first step toward the door. Remy followed, reaching for his cards on instinct before remembering they weren't there.

"Whatever number we settle on," he said, "we'll be workin' together either way, and I don't work well on empty pockets―look out!"

Rogue leaned out of the boxcar to look around, and Remy took in the whole world at once―the sunset, the open road that had appeared beside the train tracks, and a car driving that road with a crawl-line stretching between one open window and the train.

Rogue was in his arms before he knew what happened, with a streak of bullet-broken wood across the boxcar door.

"Thought I'd lost them," Rogue panted, rolling out of Remy's arms to all fours.

"Yeah, well, I ain't the only professional trackin' that payload." Remy got to his feet at the same time she did. "And unless you want me to fight with empty hands―"

"Here." Rogue yanked a deck of cards out of her back pocket and handed them over. "Your staff's in the next car up."

"The payload?"

"I said ten percent."

"Oh, for the love of―"

Another shot went off, and this time it blew a clean hole in the broad side of the boxcar.

"They shootin' from the street," Remy said. "I'll bet money that first boom was them sinkin' a crawl-line onto the train. Either they're onboard, or they 'bout to be."

"Out the other side, then." Rogue ran to the door opposite the street, hauling it open. She waved a quick hand outside, retreated, waved again, then stuck her head out to look both ways. "Coast is clear. Let's get your things while it stays that way."

Remy needed no prompting. He followed her out of the door, where they both shimmied freehanded along the outside of the boxcar. Rogue had a brash, straightforward way of action that was obvious in every step and grab. She didn't play like the blue boy or enjoy herself like the girl who could phase through walls, and she wasn't constantly checking on her teammates the way her leader with the laser eyes was wont to do. If anything, Rogue was like that Wolverine creature: aware of the goal, but straddling the line between teamwork and doing her own thing. She didn't lead him so much as go first, glancing at Remy only long enough to know his whereabouts. Lucky for them both, her independence was backed up by competence. It was half the reason he'd dragged her to New Orleans in the first place,out of all the X-Men who could've helped him.

And with his in-laws after his blood, Remy once again preferred this X-Man in particular.

Another shot rang out just as Rogue put hands on the door of the next boxcar, catching the tail of Remy's coat. He turned, pulling out three cards to offer cover while Rogue figured out the locking mechanism.

"Fils de pute!" Even with the wind, Remy could recognize his brother-in-law's voice anywhere. It was angry, but not a pretty sort of anger like Rogue; Julien's voice was bitter, reedy, and filled Remy with more exasperation than it did fear. Julien Boudreaux was one of the few people who could hold a gun to Remy's head and conjure only tired annoyance.

"If you say so, homme." Remy climbed on top of the boxcar, letting his coat splay out to catch maximum attention. "Nous dansons. Encore."

He loosed one card to serve as a firework. Like a moth to fire, Julien appeared five cars down, short blond hair mussed every which way, gun smoking, and a hateful scowl on his face.

"This why we don't trust thieves!" Julien snarled. "Sticky-fingered, code-breakin' bastards, all o' you! Even the damn prince can't keep to the rules!"

Remy crouched, narrowing his profile and charging his remaining two cards. "Who could'a guessed the Prince of Thieves might steal somethin'? Not you, surely."

The gun lifted, and Remy's next two cards went flying, one after the other. The combined explosions gave Remy enough cover to cross his fingers and swing down the side of the boxcar, praying Rogue had pried the door open.

His prayers were answered. The car stood open and waiting―and empty.

"Chere?" The thief hit the ground and rolled, scanning a dozen stacked crates for Rogue, his staff, his other card decks, anything. "Rogue!" No one answered.

"You want a rogue?" Because Julien couldn't banter, but he sure as hell couldn't shut up, either. "You got one right here!"

The assassin swung into the boxcar, gun rising before he'd even hit the floor. Remy loosed one card, two, but both he and his brother-in-law specialized in long distance combat. Remy's cards rattled his own teeth as much as Julien's, and Julien's shot missed Remy by inches.

Julien scowled. "You think you can ignore the rules just because―!"

Rogue, who had been waiting on the ceiling like a damned spider, dropped onto Julien's head knees-first. He buckled, rolled, and the gun went off into the wall, but Rogue cracked her heel into his hand before he could get his weapon under control. The gun went skittering across the floor, and Remy kicked it far, far out of Julien's reach.

Julien bucked up onto all fours, tried to say something, but choked when Rogue's fingers found his neck. He collapsed, but speed Rogue got her feet back let Remy know the fight wasn't over.

"Here!" The X-Man threw Remy his staff, then a deck of cards, and another deck after that. "Two more fools comin', I think one already on the train. And… two in the car? I think?"

"Five assassins?" Remy asked. "How the hell they get so mad over a little miscommunication? I swear, them Boudreauxs care more about guild code than their own hides."

"What's on that chip?" Rogue asked, pulling card decks out of her pockets as she approached him. Front pockets, back pockets, then two out of her bra. "Eyes up here!"

Remy dragged his eyes up to her face. "Why you stick my cards in there?"

"Cause you got twelve decks, lousy swamp rat, and I only got four pockets. Here." She threw the rest in one disorganized swoop.

Remy shook his head. "Always somethin' to complain about. You know how to use this?" He scooped up his decks along with Julien's fallen pistol.

Rogue blinked. "A gun?"

Remy checked the safety and held it out to her, muzzle pointed to the floor. "Your powers ain't helpful from a dozen yards away. You know how to shoot?"

Rogue bent down, grabbed Julien's face for a few more seconds, and said, "I do now."

She took the gun, along with Julien's cartridges, the shortsword he had on his back, and the holsters to carry them. After a moment's thought, Rogue just took the man's whole trench coat and slipped it on like she owned the thing.

"Well, damn, chere," Remy chuckled. "If I knew you liked robbin' folk so much, I'd have invited you along beforehand."

"I ain't robbin'!" Rogue snapped. "I'm… tactically acquirin'. Wipe that grin off your face, swamp rat; the others ain't far behind."

"Yes ma'am," Remy answered, continuing to grin.

He took the lead while Rogue sorted out her new toys, ducking his head out of the door to look for other pursuers.

Gunshot.

Remy ducked back inside. "One more, two cars down. Second one five cars down. Both runnin' full speed."

Rogue cocked the pistol like she'd been born for it. "They got guns, too?"

"They're assassins, chere."

"Fair enough. S'cuse me."

She shouldered past him and leaned a bare few inches out of the door, just enough to expose one gun and one eye to aim it. She didn't make those single-shots Julien had been fond of; when Rogue pulled the trigger, she unloaded. Twelve shots, each at perfect half-second intervals striking the train like clockwork. Her eye was narrow, her stance like stone, and her grip on the gun was so controlled that the thing barely twitched. For a few moments, Rogue was a distractingly deadly assassin.

When the magazine was empty, Rogue ducked back inside and shouted in a Cajun accent, "Got you covered!"

Remy blinked, because he was pretty sure standing in the boxcar already counted as cover.

"I mean, uh…" Rogue grabbed her head, and Remy could practically see her rearranging assassin-words into normal ones. "On top of the train is clear, uh, they dropped between cars―we got a few seconds, gotta move."

"Wait!" Remy grabbed her arm before she could reload. "The payload!"

She paused. "Ten percent!"

"Fine! Yes! Ten! Just tell me which car!"

"It ain't on a car!" She yanked her arm away. "It's back in town!"

"In Bayville?" Remy exclaimed. "You mean to tell me―"

Gunshot, ricocheting off the frame between Rogue's feet.

Rogue and Remy both leaped back to the center of the boxcar as another assassin swung inside. Brown curls, blue eyes, he'd seen her before―Florianne, her name was?

It hardly mattered when her gun went away and her sword came out. "How the hell you ain't been disowned, Lebeau?"

"Beats me." Remy gave one twirl of his staff to let her know he saw her challenge and accepted it. "Been tryin' for years."

"One more incoming!" Rogue announced, moments before a male assassin swung inside.

"Hold!" The female assassin held up her fist, and the male assassin froze with his sword half-drawn. "Julien has a grudge against you. We don't. Hand over the payload, and we can part ways. Our two jobs interfered on accident. That mistake can be unmade. Impermissible death cannot be."

A moment passed, and Remy caught Rogue's eye. The X-Man's usual fire was held back, and that accusing gaze was tinged with caution. She was waiting for his lead.

"Impermissible death, huh?" Slowly, carefully, Remy relaxed. "Y'all the ones who shot first."

"He is our prince," Florianne said. "If he commands us to shoot, we shoot. But he is also unconscious. If you hand over the payload, I'm certain there will be time leftover for you to disappear into the wind, with everyone's honor restored. I will speak to Marius about compensating you for the lost job."

"Mighty kind of you." Remy leaned his staff on the ground. "It's in the car we came from. One down, front left corner behind the crate."

Florianne nodded to her companion. "Va voir." Then she pulled her gun out and aimed it at Rogue's head. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word. Hands up, cherie."

The male assassin departed for the other car, leaving Rogue to glare daggers at Remy as she put her hands up.

"What, cuttin' off my job ain't bad enough?" Gambit asked. "I gave you too much grace just now for you to be insultin' me like some common burglar."

Florianne sighed tiredly. "I understand your irritation, but―"

"Florianne, wasn't it? That skinny thing Marius picked out of a New York gutter?" There was a trick to stepping close to someone without raising their guard, and Remy kept every movement lazy and languid. The two steps he took were short, but even the nonthreatening stance had Florianne's eyes narrowing. She turned her head fully toward him while keeping her gun raised to Rogue.

And because Rogue was as lucky as a queen of hearts, she understood what Remy was doing.

"And you're barely Guild at all," Florianne said. "You're crazier than I thought if you expect―"

Light as a cat, quiet as a shadow, Rogue ducked the gun and took Florienne's wrist. The assassin gasped, locked up, then collapsed. Remy caught her on the way down, laying her neatly next to Julien.

"Alright, we got a couple minutes before that last one finishes lookin'," Remy said. "How long will these two be out?"

"Ten minutes, more or less," Rogue answered. "Long enough to lose 'em."

"An' the quicker we get off this train, the quicker we get lost," Remy agreed. "You remember how to jump off trains? I know you said not to bring up our Louisiana trip―"

"I remember." She approached the boxcar door, which opened up to a countryside painted red and purple by the last streaks of sunset. "But you first."

"Me first? You're the one who took ten minutes to work up the nerves in Louisiana; we don't got time, chere."

"I'm gonna do it," she rasped. "Just…"

In the other boxcar, a crate was broken open.

"Three-two-one-timetogo." Remy grabbed Rogue from behind, wrapped his arm around her mouth, and threw them off the train together.

Rogue's scream disappeared into his sleeve, and they crashed ungracefully into a wild blackberry thicket. The train turned into thunder overhead, shaking the ground hard enough to rattle Remy's teeth. Across the tracks, through millisecond-long breaks between cars, Remy spotted the glow of headlights speeding ahead of them.

Rogue struggled once they were on the ground, and Remy wasn't too keen on another power nap, so he let her go. She gasped, took three seconds to get her bearings, then started struggling against the thorns. They were both wearing leather trench coats, so scratches weren't nearly as problematic as just being stuck.

"Meant no harm…" Remy grunted, struggling to pull his limbs free. "No time… for you to… work up to the jump."

"That's―that's fine." Rogue almost stood up, then her feet sank a foot a half down into the tangle. "Augh, you just had to land us in a bracken?"

"Either this or hard ground." Remy managed to get one foot free. "Ain't you got a sword or somethin'?"

"Yeah, but your leg's here too and it's gettin' too dark to see the difference."

"Easy, easy." Remy took out a card and charged it, casting a pink glow over the thicket. "Where you need it?"

"Here, by your foot." Rogue drew Julien's sword and began to cut, freeing Remy's feet and then her own. "Don't let 'em see you."

"They long gone, chere." With both of them standing on grass, scratched but free, Remy let the kinetic energy disintegrate the card. "That fool was outta sight in seconds. Got yourself together?"

Rogue ran hands down her curves, checking all those items she'd brought with her and the new ones she'd picked up. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good. Now that we're in order, kindly explain what you were thinkin' by draggin' us both onto a train that didn't even have the payload on it?"

Rogue tilted her head. "I was thinkin' the town of Bayville is a lot harder to search than a boxcar. I was just tryin' to ruin your weekend, swamp rat; I decided to sell that thing back to you last minute. That ten percent is the only thing keepin' my mind from changin'."

Ten percent. A whole tenth, which cut Remy's percent down to forty. A robbery within a robbery, from an X-Man, which was as frustrating as it was hilarious.

"Well?" Rogue asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's your answer, swamp rat? You sure as hell ain't gonna find it on your own unless you got psychic powers neither of us know about."

Remy wished he did have psychic powers. He was glad he didn't. He hated this problem, but it made his fingers itch with excitement. He wanted the payload, but he was a gambler through and through; he was delighted against his will that it was both so close and so out of reach. He didn't like being outplayed, but it had also been years since anyone had outplayed him, and Rogue was standing there with her hands on her hips and that challenging spark in her eye that reminded him how fun it was to be outplayed.

When Remy sighed, it took up his whole body.

"What's that the sound of?" Rogue asked.

"That," Remy answered, "is the sound of me realizin' I might actually have to give you ten percent."

Rogue spread her arms. "I told you right off the bat, Cajun. This conversation could'a been a lot quicker."

"Yeah. Well. Consider my lesson learned." Remy turned, stepping eastward because it was getting too dark to point. "I saw lights about a mile uproad, an' plenty of cars parked together. It'll be somewhere we can sit, if we're lucky, an' I'd rather follow the train than head back to Bayville just yet. My guess is, them assassins still think we got the payload on us, so they'll assume we headin' back to town quick as possible. They'll double back as soon as they wake up and check every bar, payphone and taxi service between here and there. If we head away from Bayville, we'll get a good chunk of extra time."

Rogue nodded, falling into step beside him as the last traces of red vanished from the horizon.

"You finished arguin' about my cut, then?" she asked.

Remy sighed again. "I suppose. Your friends?"

"The X-Men won't know where I am if I don't use my powers. They'll follow the train, probably, an' Wolverine can track by scent, but we can stay ahead of them if we move quick. They probably won't be happy I'm workin' with you."

"That you're robbin' me," Remy corrected. "Three is a crowd, anyway. Or more."

"You got that right." Rogue muttered the words, almost to herself. "So long as you got no problems with how we ended up here."

"What, you mean how you caught me just miles from the finish line, knocked me out, stole my payload, robbed me blind, tied me up and threw me on a train?" Remy chuckled. "Non, you an' me got no problems at all."

"It ain't no Mardi Gras, but who knows?" She quickened her step. "You might have fun, too."

Keep this up, Remy thought, and I don't think I'll have a choice.